The next moment can wait

For the briefest of moments I forget that my life is more than basking in the sunny atmosphere of bright smiles, warm embraces and loving kisses from friends and the locals here in Salvador. The morning walks with buddies, the afternoon passage on the beach and evening dinners in outdoor restaurants are among the swirl of activity that eclipses concerns of cold days back home. As I pretend that my life is in the here and now, I still veer toward the things that must be in place upon my return. The thoughts of supplies and syllabi, students and models, colleagues and confidants, stir in my mind, as breezes flow over my sun baked body. My languid stroll along the promenade, at times, is undercut by the internal scheduling of trains, planes and buses in my head.

This consciousness is hard to maintain in a land where things operate in a fluid motion, attendant to what happens next rather than what is prescribed. This moment is what matters, is a concept I willfully use in my daily life, but for it to truly work it has to be unconscious. Here in Salvador the people seem to know that there is no rush to get to the next moment when the present one is before you. The chance encounter that could lead to a long talk, walk or lunch is a common happenstance. Having a relationship with someone or something, like the sun, surf and sand, is enough to fill one's day. My goal is to carry this way of being into the colder climes of the northeast, and not be rushed by chill or prescription, because the next moment can wait.

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